I know – someone has advised me not to blog anything political.

One thing I’d say to that – where does the blogging stop and the writing begin?  For some people they are synonymous – one thing the same as the other.

You can’t stick your head in a bucket and pretend none of this is going on!

Well, you could!

Hey ho, Boris!

Come on, Boris!


I feel right down today. The Lords have voted for a stopping of a no-deal Brexit, thus taking away from Boris Johnson (though we need to see what happens next) a main negotiating tool with the European Union.

Yes. I want to be out.

When the people voted to come out of the EU, in the 2016 referendum, that was democracy – politicians have had ample time to take us out, but Remainers, who do not want to abide by that decision (and want to decide, for themselves, what democracy might be), have messed up the process every step of the way.

The Speaker behaved atrociously in the Commons yesterday. To say he did not maintain his position of impartiality is an understatement. There is talk of getting rid of him in some way.

I’ve only seen headlines this morning. I missed the point, yesterday, where Boris Johnson called Jeremy Corbyn a ‘big girl’s blouse’ (I haven’t heard that phrase for a long time), but saw the part where he called him a ‘chlorinated chicken’.

Sorry, all you US folk out there, but most Britishers don’t fancy their chicken being chlorinated under a trade deal with Trump.

I’m not a vegetarian, and let me say this in all fairness – I would eat chlorinated chicken if that was all there was.

However – I’m going back a bit but, following on from what Macron said, if I am to stand by Boris, then I mustn’t let myself become a vassal to the US.

I do hope my friends in the US will understand if I keep a certain distance, in some respects, by standing slightly apart, my nose in the air.

By the way, I was never sure of Jacob Rees-Mogg, but when I saw him lounging over that bench in the House of Commons, I loved him even more than I did when he was giving his speeches as the Commons leader.

I agreed with practically every word he said – and that I heard – all this was going on all day, and the BBC was making its usual spectacle of itself. It appears it has aligned itself with the press of the most sensationalised variety.

But, I’m going on.

I do hope Boris wins through.

But, even though Farage did not take Trump’s pussy-detractionism seriously enough, there will be him to vote for.

This isn’t the place for practising your great art, is it?

At the risk of shitting in my own back yard, I’ve gotta say – the blogging scene – generally – not much in it despite the – billion or so sites (more or less – I was never good at maths) – that they say there are.

Maybe I haven’t found many sites yet that would interest me – but I feel as though I am sitting here, banging my head off a brick wall.

I should just get some of these thoughts down, and weather the (possible) storm.

What I really think.

Do I set myself up as a good sort?

Do I be a hero, if only to myself?  Do I feminise that and become a heroine?  Does that matter, these days?  Why can I accept ‘heroine’, for instance, and not ‘poetess’?

It’s use, I suppose, choice of words.  I like ‘blonde’ for females and ‘blond’ for males, but I have noticed that it seems more common, now, in the US anyway, to use ‘blond’ for both men and women.

Many would agree to give up ‘madame’; some drop the idea of ‘lady’ unless it is an actual title, preferring ‘woman’ – I, myself, watch that use of ‘girl’ for any female person above the age of majority.

(And that has reminded me – once, I was walking along one of those streets, and there was a group of young boys coming my way – what I would call ‘junior school age’ – I’m old enough to remember when schools were categorised in such a way – junior school coming after infant school and before senior school – how simple it was in those days – no ‘year this number’ and ‘year that number’ – some mathematical genius must have brought in that system – and – I wasn’t afraid of groups of young boys, and kept on walking – they were nudging each other – and then I heard what one was saying to another – “Kiss the nanna*!”  Nudge.  “Go on, kiss the nanna!”

And I wasn’t taking much notice.

And it wasn’t until much later, when I was home again, shopping achieved, that I realised that the ‘nanna’ referred to – was me.

knew how old I was, but I had no idea that it showed.  I thought I was youthful-looking for my age!)

But that’s an aside.  Maybe.

And, in the general consideration I was going through, before being usurped by my own memory – there is transgender and homosexual and bisexual and . . . what standard of description would suit all of those?  Don’t forget these are people, not just categories, and I’m sorry if I missed anyone out.

I do care about these things – and I did very strong courses (that’s one way to describe them) on feminism, as it was then – and then there was discussion on whether we should be talking about gender studies instead – of course, of course.

This wasn’t what I was going to write about, but this fell upon the page, and so – I have been so tired lately – I may as well leave it there, I think – and then there will be something rather than nothing.  Couch it round with general apologies – I’m feeling amiss in my mind – who knows who or what I may have forgotten?

What I was going to write was: do I only write the triumphs here?


*’nanna’ – a common term, where I live, for a grandmother.

How much does blogging help you with your writing, or help towards your writing career?

A prestigious writers’ association that uses venues for its endeavours that are, at most, a train-journey away from where I live, offers workshops on how to set up a blog, as well as other ‘how to’ and ‘meet the author’ events.  Blogging seems to be part of a standard structure towards becoming an established writer.

No.  I have not attended those courses.

I went to one ‘meet the author’, that event taking place in a library a taxi-ride away from my home.

It was interesting but you either scootle out of the building the minute the talk (talks in this case – there were two authors) finishes, or you are expected, in the most polite way, to buy the book(s).

They are sold at a reduced rate, and the tickets for the evening cost next to nothing, but the exercise is to promote the writers – and the whole thing is hung on ‘local’ – ‘local novelists’, ‘local poets’, and so on.

Yes.  I bought a couple of books.

One writer did appeal to me – I’d got her book out of the library and then bought it at the event.

The other author – they were put on together though they had little in common – the other person was a crime writer, and – I do read all sorts – but I found his depiction of women (once I got the book home) not at all to my taste.

I’m sorting out my house, and I can’t keep all these books.  I just haven’t space for them all.  And so I am putting into the charity shop those that I am not impressed with and those that I have outgrown.  Some go in the bin.

I don’t care what they are – I was keeping classics for a long time because I thought I might end up with a teaching career.

But – if I don’t like books, out they go.  I’ll keep those that mean something to me in one way or another.  That does include some heavy theoretical tomes.  But I also have genre – and, yes, some of those that are considered classics that I do like.

I keep on going over the same things, and I have said some of this before.

But it seems important to say it again now and maybe I say more this time than I did the last.

I can’t be bound.

Blogging, though.  How far does it help you with your writing?

One day, I might go along to that ‘blogging’ class – just to find out how they justify themselves.

I’m sorting out my house.

I tell people I am not goal-orientated, and I am not, as far as my writing is concerned – when I am doing it.  Oh, I might get to a point where I know what is going to happen in it – how it is going to resolve so far, at least – and I’ll jot down consecutive points before I forget them – but that not going very far ahead in the story – what I write does change as I go along.

And I suppose – that looks like a plot-plan, or as though I am working towards a goal.

I’m talking of way in my past here, when I was trying to write – romance at first because someone said money could be made at it – make my money, I thought, and then I could write my real writing – I’m jotting this down now as it comes – and then a science fiction – when the romance didn’t work – I wrote at least one of 50,000 words, which was the length the publisher was looking for – but unacceptable – it didn’t follow the standard procedure – I couldn’t control the writing in that way –

Enough prevaricating – I can’t tell everything all at once.

I’m sorting out my house, I say.

That is a – goal – of sorts – in the same way that I am sorting out my writing – I am going through it all, more or less in a chronological order of when I wrote it – long-term goals, both of those.

But I haven’t thought of those that way.

Those are two broad things that I am doing in my life.

But so far-reaching the ends of them are way in the distance, beyond where I can see, over the horizon.

I have just finished sorting through a load of tablecloths that I inherited.

I have washed them all but ironed none of them.

I have worked through a criterion of ‘what I like’.

And I won’t put tablecloths on the table as a matter of course.  I would like to be that way.  It was the way I was brought up.  It would be nice . . .

But going through all my writing takes as much of my space as – I mean ‘time’ but didn’t want to say so –

I have kept a few embroidered tablecloths.  Because I like them.

The others can go.